As a play, Dan Gordon's Murder in the First makes a terrific movie. Okay,
okay, it was already a movie, released in 1995 and starring Christian
Slater, Kevin Bacon, Gary Oldman, and William H. Macy. And while one can't
expect a theatrical production of the work - which Gordon himself adapted
for the stage - to recreate that star power or every cinematic trick that
makes movies, well, movies, the Invictus Theater Company has nonetheless
succeeded quite admirably overall.

This production, which plays at Theatre 3 through April 24, is a boldly
cinematic mounting as filtered through the acute theatrical sensibilities of
its director, Michael Parva. With an elaborately appointed set (designed by
Mark Nayden) depicting a courtroom, a jail, a law office, and a private
apartment, and lights (the work of David Castaneda) that utilize slow-fades
and quick-cuts to change scenes almost instantly, the play smoothly covers a
great deal of ground in telling the story of the man who brought down
Alcatraz.

That man, Willie Moore (Gene Silvers), was trapped in the pitch-black lower
cells of the island prison for years and committed a vicious murder soon
after his release. But the San Francisco public defender assigned to his
case, Henry Davidson (John Stanisci), believes that he didn't act alone,
that it was the inhuman treatment he received in Alcatraz that was
responsible for the crime. And against the advice of all those around him,
he sets out to prosecute Alcatraz while defending his client.

While Gordon's writing covers a lot of pedestrian territory - Henry fights
with his fiancÚ Mary (Laurie Ann Bulman) in both personal and professional
capacities; Henry's brother Byron (Dan Patrick Brady) might be heading up a
conspiracy to get Henry off the case - but never ineffectively so. And as
practically everything serves the story being told in one way or another,
more tangential bits - like Henry's arranging a prostitute (Suzie Cho) to
visit Willie in his cell to satisfy some long-held desires - still never
feel extraneous.

For all the gloss of Parva's slick staging, however, it seems to
uncomfortably magnify certain shortcomings in Gordon's dramatic shorthand:
Very few scenes take place during the trial, which doesn't give you a good
overall impression of Henry's case, and some major events happen offstage
that aren't easily integrated back into the action later. This gives parts
of the show a choppy, incomplete feel, that make you wonder if some key
transitions were left on the cutting-room floor.

Unfortunately, a number of significant members of the 16-person cast can't
compensate for this. Most notable is Stanisci, who has the largest role but
gives a stiffly unlikable and unconvincing performance as the young
go-getter taking on the forces of Alcatraz. Bulman and Brady are also
fairly wooden in their portrayals, overplaying their antagonism to an
unbalancing degree. As the genuine villains of the story, the Alcatraz
warden and his assistant, William Severs and Allen McCullough are more
understated and more quietly terrifying. Thomas Ryan, as an affably
authoritative judge, Darren Kelly as Willie's prosecutor, and James Michael
Farrell as a greasy, opportunistic reporter provide strong support.

But it's Willie who's the most important character and the play's emotional
center. Silvers vividly brings him to life, intelligently charting his
journey from animal-like captivity (in a disquieting prologue) to a sense of
renewed, if not fully repaired, humanity. Silvers finds every bit of anger,
helplessness, and desperation - stated and unspoken - that Gordon has
devised, almost always succeeding at making Willie a person rather than a
symbol.

It's only in the final, most blatantly scripted scenes that Silvers and
Gordon encounter real problems: When Willie must confront his captors and
either denounce their actions or accept the ultimate punishment for his
crimes, the results are too pointedly predictable. But despite that, and an
overly movie-ish voiceover ending, Murder in the First retains a beguiling
power and an ability to communicate the darker, more frightening aspects of
the human mind in a way both engaging and moving, whether on film or
onstage.